


Throw in a karaoke “All I want for Christmas is you”? GIVE IT TO ME

by TaleWeaver



Series: I love a good holiday fic [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Sansa and Jon are geeky and proud!, Writing by the seat of my pants, no beta we die like Starks!, we have upgraded from one-sided pining to mutual yearning!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: Christmas lunch down at the Drunken Mermaid, and Sansa is ready to lay out her intentions in classic rom-com fashion: karaoke!
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: I love a good holiday fic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067057
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Throw in a karaoke “All I want for Christmas is you”? GIVE IT TO ME

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't been able to work it in organically yet, but just in case I can't later, I wanted to mention: Jon and Sansa live in White Harbour, where Jon is a graduate student in history and Sansa's doing a double major in theatrical costuming and history with the aim of becoming a theatrical costumer specialising in historical and fantasy productions.

Christmas lunch at the Drunken Mermaid, and Sansa is feeling no pain whatsoever.

She should have thought of this _years_ ago. 

Granted, she was in high school and then college before she'd figured out the grants system, and it’s only now she has the financial and emotional confidence to look at what is in store for her at the Stark’s Christmas, and go _fuck no_. The Christmas banquet might not have the variety of dishes or taste quite as good as Winterfell’s, but she doesn’t have to cook any of it herself (nor does she have to watch Robb-the-Heir and Arya-Father’s-pet lounge around playing video games while she loads the dishwasher with one hand and plates a dessert with the other), and she can drink as much as she wants. Well, in moderation, anyway, because the dear friend who has also made her wear out several sets of batteries is by her side - ready, willing and able to discuss the merits of Pratchett’s DEATH versus Gaiman’s Didi over Christmas pudding with brandy custard - and Sansa doesn’t want Jon to think that she makes a habit of getting wasted in public.

There’s even karaoke!

“Karaoke? Gods, Sansa, please no,” Jon moaned, although there’s still a healthy flush on his snow (hah!) pale cheeks. It set off his Stranger Things-themed Christmas jumper (Sansa had bought it online for him last week) quite nicely, gaping Demigorgons notwithstanding.

“You don’t like karaoke?” Sansa asked, stricken. 

Then she took a deep breath, and calmed down. This was actually a good thing; firstly, it meant more time on the machine for her, secondly, there was no such thing as a perfect man, so Jon showing such a small, easily lived with imperfection meant he was actually an even better prospect than she’d previously hoped.

“I’ve heard too many shit singers at these things – I _am_ a shit singer. It’s one of the reasons I quit working as a bartender.”

All things considered, that was fair. Sansa’s karaoke habit had developed thanks to her hanging out with the drama club and show choir clubs in high school, so she’d had a better experience with them than Jon obviously had.

“Well, I’m a good singer. And I expect you to cheer me on,” she told Jon firmly.

Jon tossed back the rest of his whiskey, and nodded grimly. 

Sansa patted his hand reassuringly (also, she just like touching him). "You'll see," she promised (she hoped, in more ways than one!). 

Two minutes later, Sansa was holding the mike up on the small stage, and praying to all the Old Gods that this would work. Also that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself, because while she could belt out Rogers and Hammerstein with the best, she didn’t have Mariah’s operatic range.

But seven hells, she’d worn her lucky Christmas undies and everything!

One more deep breath, and Sansa launched into ‘All I want for Christmas is you’.

And every time she sang the title, she looked directly at Jon.

**Author's Note:**

> Geek note: Pratchett's DEATH is from the Discworld series (almost time for the annual re-watching of Hogfather!) and Gaiman's Didi is from The Sandman graphic novels (Didi is what she calls herself on holiday).


End file.
